


i won't dance

by kerrykins (orphan_account)



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 02:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Miranda is going through a difficult time. Having to attend a gala when she's feeling low is a painful experience. Luckily, she has her trusty assistant to help her get through these trying times. But perhaps she'll just complicate matters for our favourite, moody editor?





	i won't dance

**Author's Note:**

> I played a song called "I Won't Dance" on loop when I wrote this. I recommend listening to it, it's very nice.

_You know what, you're so lovely, ring a ding-ding, you're lovely_ _  
_ _And you know what_   
You do to me

 

Miranda stood on the edge of the ballroom, spectating the partygoers from afar. Typically, she’d spend her time at these evening parties greeting guests, or chatting with business partners. However, she recognised very few people, and wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk to them.

 

Her divorce had just been finalised, and she felt absolutely dreadful. Unwanted, unloved, discarded like she was nothing. Her reputation, the worth of her opinion in the fashion world, had no merit in her personal life. At the workplace, she was revered. God, there were thousands of wannabe designers, photographers, and models out there vying for her approval.

 

But she wasn’t Miranda Priestly, fashion goddess here, or at home. Just a three-time divorced, middle-aged woman with a heart of ice.

 

A gentle tap on her shoulder brought her drifting thoughts back to the party, and she stiffened at the touch. No one was to touch her, it was one of her unspoken rules, but known by all.

 

“Miranda,” a voice whispered her name timidly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, why are you-”

 

The snow-haired woman whirled around, prepared to throttle someone, until she realised it was just Andrea. She relaxed, but the assistant looked shaken still.

 

Miranda took a moment to take in Andrea’s appearance. She was wearing a particularly stunning Elie Saab cocktail dress that made the young woman's pale skin glow ethereally. There were iridescent sequins sewn into the bodice that trickled downwards, scattering at the bottom of the skirt. It was mind-bogglingly short and low cut, and Miranda’s gaze lingered at the neckline before snapping back up again. Her hair was swept up into a sloppy bun, with a couple mahogany curls falling around her ears.

 

She wordlessly nodded her approval, and the girl beamed.

 

“Hello, Andrea,” Miranda greeted the girl cooly, trying her best to cover up the fact that she had just been on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Am I not allowed to simply stand here and have some time to myself?”

 

“I mean, of course you can, you’re Miranda. But I’m a little worried. You’ve been glaring at everyone as you sulk around in the back of the room, mumbling to yourself.”

 

Miranda pursed her lips in displeasure. Had she really been muttering things under her breath? She supposed she really was going insane. “I see. And I do not sulk, Andrea.”

 

“But you do,” the assistant blurted. Miranda arched an eyebrow at her. “Sorry.” Andrea grimaced, biting her lip. She fidgeted a bit.

 

“It’s fine,” Miranda said dismissively, and couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Typical Andrea. Always blundering in, and then apologising profusely.

 

The girl’s brown eyes looked at her searchingly. “But are you fine?” Miranda refused to make eye contact. “Of course.”

 

“You’re doing that thing again.”  


“And what is that ‘thing,’ pray tell?” Miranda scowled, feeling a headache coming on. Goodness gracious, why couldn’t Andrea just leave her alone? Just a couple minutes, that was all she was asking for.

 

“When you’re upset you tend to respond with one or two word answers,” the younger woman remarked.

 

Miranda stared at her. Andrea still seemed apprehensive about confronting her, but it was clear she was determined to help, even if there was really nothing she could do.

 

“So what can I do for you?” The brunette woman asked, no uncertainty in her voice this time. “Just say the word and it’s done.”

 

Miranda stiffened, unsure what that would entail. “That really depends. On what you’re willing to do.” She blanched. That sounded an awful lot like some kind of innuendo.

 

“Anything at all,” her assistant responded bluntly. Miranda didn’t respond immediately. Anything at all could mean... a great deal of things. There were was an infinite amount of questions she had for Andrea. Numerous confessions, fears, and emotions.

 

But of course, now wouldn't be an ideal time to mention those. Instead of speaking, she simply stood there, unsure what to do now. _Drats, the Ice Queen is freezing up_ , Miranda thought to herself helplessly.

 

Andrea boldly extended a shaking arm to the panicked white-haired woman, determination burning in her dark brown eyes. “May I have this dance, Miranda?” She gave the older woman one of her alluring smiles, and the editor felt her face grow warm.

 

“No.” Miranda surprised herself with the edge in her voice.

 _Think of what you're losing_ _  
_ _By constantly refusing_ _  
_ _To dance with me_ _  
_ _You'd be the idol of France with me_   


The brunette girl looked like a kicked puppy for a moment, and the editor’s jaw tensed in apprehension. Had she hurt her feelings? Then Andrea pouted, sticking out her lower lip, and the older woman found herself staring.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I don’t see why I should,” the white-haired woman sniffed. She’d love nothing more to dance with Andrea, and more, but it’d look so terribly inappropriate. And it would be inappropriate.

 

 _And yet you stand there and shake your foolish head rheumatically_ _  
_ _While I wait here so ecstatically_ _  
_ _You just look and say emphatically_ _  
_ _Not this season, there's a reason_   
I won't dance, don't ask me

  


The brunette girl huffed in exasperation. “For God’s sake, Miranda. I insist.” She crossed her arms, cocoa eyes glinting playfully.

 

The older woman lips quirked. There was something irresistible about the way the girl’s eyes gleamed. “I suppose I don’t really have a choice,” she purred.

 

Miranda delicately slipped her gloved hand in her assistant’s, and shivered. Not because it was unpleasant, but because the sensation of Andrea’s soft grip on her made her head spin. God, it had been so long since anyone had held her hand, and no one had made her feel so-- bubbly.

 

The brunette girl led her to the dance floor, and Miranda could nearly feel everyone’s eyes burning into them. She tried her best to shake off the unpleasant thoughts that began filling her head, but her attempts were fruitless.

 

A rendition of “I Won’t Dance” began playing, and Miranda felt herself relax. That, she could manage. At least it wasn’t a waltz. It wasn’t that she couldn’t perform it correctly, in fact, she was exceptional.

 

 _My heart won't let my feet do things that they should do_ _  
_ _You know what, you're lovely_

 

But the thought of Andrea’s hands wrapped around her waist, or vice versa, made her shudder. She was having great difficulty keeping herself composed already, and anything else would push her over the brink.

 

Miranda’s breath hitched as she spun the brunette woman, who was grinning ear to ear when she faced her. “What’s so funny?” The older woman inquired archly.

 

“Nothing,” Andy answered, her eyes shining. “I just like dancing with you.” Miranda bit her lip and said nothing, unsure how to respond. They spent a mere couple of minutes dancing in silence before Andrea opened her mouth again.

 

“This song reminds me of you,” her dancing partner suddenly remarked. Miranda glanced at her. “How so?”

 

“Well, you were being stubborn and refusing to dance with me.” At this, the white-haired woman rolled her eyes as she interlocked hands with Andrea, spinning her away. “Is that all?”

 

“No, it’s also because I have no clue how to dance, but asked you anyways because I thought you needed it.” The girl grabbed hold of Miranda, pulling her in close.

 

The editor twitched dangerously. She was the one leading, not Andrea. After a moment’s hesitation, she murmured, “I see.” So it was out of pity, then. How disgraceful.

 

“I didn’t do it out of pity,” her partner added, as if she’d read Miranda’s mind. “Music leads to the way to romance,” she sang softly. Andrea’s voice was gentle and sweet, and Miranda was taken aback by it. So surprised that she didn’t immediately realise what the girl had said.

 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Miranda found herself saying afterwards, despite every voice in her head telling her not to. “Shocking for someone that is incapable of speaking without stuttering.” She smirked wickedly at Andy, who looked perplexed for a moment.

 

“And you’re a great dancer,” Andy shot back. “I knew you would be, you’re good at everything.”

 

“I assure you that isn’t the case, I’m not nearly as perfect as everyone believes,” Miranda sighed, then her face reddened when she realised what she had just said. Oh dear. Too much champagne, perhaps? Or maybe it was the warmth of Andrea’s hands she was drunk on.

 

The brunette smiled, but pressed a finger against her own lips. “I won’t tell a soul.”

 

“Not particularly comforting,” Miranda sniffed. Andy giggled at this, but smothered it with a gloved hand as the white-haired woman made sure to deliver one of her coldest glares.

 

“So what makes you think you’re not good at everything?” Miranda must have had a pretty dark look on her face, because Andy quickly said, “Nevermind.”

 

“If you must know,” the older woman drawled. “It’s that while I’m highly successful in the workplace, I am lacking in other areas.” She frowned a bit at her own confession. Seemed like she really was lacking in self control tonight.

 

“I think the same could be said for me,” Andy’s response surprised her. She knew that she and Andrea shared many similarities, such as their ambition, their hardworking nature, and ability to read people. But she had never considered the negative ones they’d share.

 

“I broke up with my boyfriend Nate right before Paris,” she explained, smiling sadly. “And my friends don’t like to talk to me anymore. Except Doug occasionally.”

Miranda stared at her in disbelief. Agreeable Andrea, with no friends or significant other? If the chirpy brunette couldn’t have a social life, then there certainly was no hope for anyone else. And she couldn’t help but wonder if she was to blame for it. For overworking Andrea, and forcing her to choose between work and her personal life.

 

The song ended, and that brought her thoughts back to the present. She let out a weary sigh of relief. It was over, finally. The interrogation session. The uncomfortable closeness. The tempting, flirtatious comments Andrea was making. Which she was in a way, reciprocating.

 

Miranda quickly let go of the girl’s hands, and tried to get off the dance floor as quick as she could without running. It wasn’t an easy feat in heels, but she managed. “Miranda.” The older woman heard Andrea call after her anxiously. No, that wouldn’t do at all. She needed to be left alone. Miranda desperately needed to get away from that assistant of hers, away from tender brown eyes and tinkling laughter.

 

“Andrea, that’s all,” she snarled once the brunette had caught up to her. Miranda turned her back on Andy. That way, she wouldn’t have to look at whatever heart-wrenching emotion was written on her face. Her evening gown billowed behind her as she made quick work of getting herself lost in the crowd.

  
_But oh, what you do to me_ _  
_ _I'm like an ocean wave that's bumped on the shore_   
I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor


End file.
